


Just Two Florists at a Wedding

by winethroughwater



Category: Rosemary and Thyme
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Implied Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winethroughwater/pseuds/winethroughwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are never too old for a bit of hand holding and awkwardness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Two Florists at a Wedding

“That her?”  Rosemary asked, looking across the room at the tall blonde. 

 

Laura nodded.  “The child bride.”

 

“She’s hideous.”  But in fact, Rosemary begrudgingly admitted, she was actually quite stunning, albeit in a Miss Car Parts calendar sort of way.  

 

“Thanks.” Laura shook her head in disbelief, eyes still fixed on the couple now exchanging pleasantries with the soon to be bride and groom.  “I didn’t think it was possible.” 

 

“What?”

 

“She’s even thinner than the last time I saw her. Blonder too.”  

 

She was very blonde, Rosemary thought.  And tan.  And thin.  And wearing a sort of lavender halter dress that was only staying up by some fascinating miracle of modern fashion.  Not a bad color on her though. 

 

The middle-aged man sliding his hand around her barely-there-waist obviously agreed about the dress. 

 

“And that would be Nick then.”

 

“Would you look at that tan?  Who does he think he is?”

 

Rosemary took that as a “yes.”  She rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink. 

 

“He’s dying his hair.  Has to be.  And her.  No one has hair that blonde . . .”

 

“I personally fancy redheads but recently, _very_ recently actually, I’m reconsidering,” Rosemary muttered into her drink, just loud enough for Laura to overhear.  It earned her a nasty look from the redhead in question but did not bring Laura’s scathing commentary of her ex and his new wife to an end. 

 

“He’s lost weight.  Probably goes to the gym now, stupid--”

 

“It’s a very fine line you’re walking, Laura.  Bit more of that and I’ll start to take it to heart.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Laura admonished, without taking her gaze from her ex and his new wife.  When no witty retort followed, Laura finally turned her attention back to the blonde at her side.  The blonde at her side whose mouth was currently set in a pout that no woman her age should legally be allowed to possess. 

 

It was the pout that always got to her in the end. 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

The pout was replaced by a contended smile and a deviously raised eyebrow—then just as quickly followed by a grimace. 

 

“ _What_?  I apologized.”

 

“Nooo,” Rosemary whispered.  “Don’t look now, but Mathew’s bringing her in our direction.”

 

“Bloody hell.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mathew at least had the grace to flash his mum an apologetic smile, as he introduced his new step-mother, who just happened to be a full two years younger than him. 

 

“Chrissie, this is my mum, Laura,” Mathew offered diplomatically.

 

Seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness inherent in the situation, Chrissie smiled and extended her hand. 

 

Motivated by Rosemary’s elbow to her ribs, Laura reluctantly, yet briefly, took it. 

 

Chrissie looked down at their hands, her mouth screwing up a bit before she could help herself. 

 

“Gardening, isn’t it?”  She wrinkled her nose.  “Bit rough on the hands, I guess.” 

 

She giggled.  She actually giggled.

 

While Laura stared at her incredulously, Mathew quickly moved on to other introductions. 

 

“This is our friend Rosemary, mum’s business partner,” Mathew explained. 

 

Rosemary extended her hand enthusiastically.  “Hello.  Such a lovely dress you’re wearing.”  At Chrissie’s brief hesitation before accepting, Rosemary couldn’t resist adding, “Don’t worry.  I washed my hands and everything.  _Especially_.”

 

Chrissie giggled again.  Rosemary exchanged an amused look with Laura. 

 

“Come now, you must get your hands on plenty of unpleasant things.”

 

Rosemary’s eyes widened.  Laura’s voice was too friendly, her smile to pleasant. 

 

“In your line of work,” Rosemary finished for Laura, maybe just a bit more loudly and vehemently than was absolutely necessary.

 

“Oh, no, not really,” Chrissie answered, blissfully unaware.  “Mostly shuffling papers and updating databases.  Most crimes are solved using computers these days.”  She paused and looked Rosemary over.  “So you’re in flowers too?  Oh, have you done the flowers for the wedding?” she asked excitedly. 

 

“Not a _florist_ actually,” Rosemary explained, emphasizing the word.  “Plant pathology.”

 

“And what’s that?  Like _CSI:  Miami_?”

 

“Yes.  Exactly like that,” Rosemary said gravely.  “Very dangerous stuff.”

 

“But I thought Nick said you were gardeners?”

 

“Yes, we are,” Laura interrupted.  “Excuse us, won’t you?”

 

Laura walked away, and correctly assuming that she was the other half of that “us,” Rosemary followed.   

 

“She’s even better than I thought she’d be,” Rosemary laughed. 

 

* * *

 

“Look, promise me you won’t get mad,” Mathew began.

 

“Oh, my darling boy,” Laura teased, making a grab to pinch his cheek.  “What’ve you done now?”  He squirmed. 

 

“It’s the seating arrangements.  Now Jill’s mum and her sister worked it all out.  And I tried to get Jill to change it—but then she cried, so,” Mathew rambled.

 

“What, we sitting next to the loo?  Or Uncle Albert?” Laura wondered.  “It’s not like they’ve got us sitting with your father and his child bride.”

 

Mathew was silent.  Too silent. 

 

“They didn’t.”

 

“I’m afraid so.  But, just please, for this weekend.  Just please try to get along.”

 

Laura’s mouth opened, ready to explain that it was not she who was always starting things but that miserable swine he called a father—but instead she shook her head.  “Of course we will.  We won’t let anything spoil your big day.  Now obviously I can’t speak for your father . . .”

 

“Mum.  Please,” Mathew interrupted.

 

“Oh, alright,” she relented. 

 

* * *

“You know what they say about police men and their handcuffs,” Chrissie teased, to the delight of most of the table. 

 

Rosemary tilted her head in Laura’s direction and raised an eyebrow. “Now there’s an interesting idea.  Say, Laura, weren’t you in the police?”

 

“Stop it,” was Laura’s only response—that and a blush creeping over her cheeks. 

 

* * *

Rosemary bent her head in Laura’s direction and whispered loudly over the music:  “You know, for an elderly gentleman, your Uncle Albert is certainly very . . . spry.” 

 

“Let’s just hope that girl he’s dancing with is as equally _spry,_ ” Laura laughed.

 

Helena came round behind them, crouching down, as best she could in the layers of toile that made up the skirt of her bridesmaid's dress.  “Mum, someone really should . . . ” She paused.   Rosemary’s hand was on her mother’s thigh, a bit of the fabric bunched between her thumb and forefinger.  And it wasn’t so much the fact that Rosemary’s hand was practically in her mother’s lap that caused Helena to look sharply up at Rosemary and then her mother, but the fact that both Rosemary and her mum had forgotten about Rosemary’s hand practically being in her lap. 

 

“Someone should cut Uncle Albert off,” she finished. 

 

“Oh, but he’s having so much fun,” Rosemary began, only to trail off as she followed Helena’s gaze. 

 

Bloody hell . . . Rosemary let go of the fabric she had been toying with and brushed roughly against Laura’s dress.  “That dress is an absolute lint magnet.” 

 

Laura, still focusing on the antics on the dance floor, absently rubbed at the invisible lint. 

 

“Who is that poor girl?”

 

Rosemary watched Laura with a half smile and looked at Helena pleadingly. 

 

“No idea, mum.”

 

Rosemary released the breath she’d been holding and smiled gratefully at Helena. 

 

“Rosemary, there’s the loveliest flower out by the fountain—all sort of blue and frilly.  I wonder if you could come and tell me what it is.”  Helena stood up, vainly trying to press down the bulk of her dress, and held Rosemary’s gaze.  “I’d like to get some for my back garden.”

 

“Gardener’s job is never done,” Rosemary joked, rising to join Helena. “Excuse me, won’t you.”   

 

She took a few determined steps from the table then came right back and grabbed her glass.  “Might need this.”

 

“To go and look at a flower?” Laura asked.

 

Rosemary’s bracelets clanked as she settled her hand briefly on the back of Laura’s chair, leaning in to be heard over the still blaring music. “Just be minute,” she promised.  She brushed her thumb against Laura’s back and smiled down at her.  That would have to do in place of the kiss she was nigh desperate for given what was certainly about to happen.  Laura instinctively leaned back into the caress.  Rosemary chewed at her bottom lip.  “Right, then.”    

 

* * *

 

Helena was waiting at the French doors.     

 

Their walk to the fountain was not mired with conversation.  Rosemary sipped at her champagne to cover her nerves and Helena stared straight ahead. 

 

“So where’s this flower?” Rosemary asked, though she was certain there was no flower, when they arrived at their destination, a rather tacky number in which a cherub spit water down to the pools below.  Just out of shouting distance of the party, Rosemary noted solemnly. 

 

Helena just stared at her. 

 

“Guess that bit about the lint wasn’t as clever as I thought.”

 

“No,” Helena stated flatly.  “Though definite points for improvisation.”

 

“You’re making a joke and not yelling.  Does that mean you aren’t too upset?”

 

“Upset.  No.  _Surprised_.  _Confused_.  You’d better believe it.” 

 

Rosemary steeled herself as Helena continued, “You and my mother, you’re  …”

 

“Together?”

 

Helena nodded. 

 

“Yes,” Rosemary answered truthfully. 

 

“Well then, why hasn’t she told us?  I, mean, Matt and me.  We see you all the time.  You stayed at my flat . . .” As something akin to horror began to dawn across Helena’s face, Rosemary cut her off with a wave of her hand in the negative.

 

Helena took at deep, _relieved_ , breath. 

 

“But Dad left mum for Chrissie,” Helena continued.  “That’s what they said happened.  That is what happened, right?  It wasn’t because of this, was it?  How long has it—how long have you been together?”

 

“Oh, no,” Rosemary stepped closer to Helena and took her by the elbow.  “Helena, it was nothing like that.  And, well, it’s only been since Christmas, that we’ve . . .” That look started to creep into Helena eyes again.  “ You know,” Rosemary finished vaguely. 

 

“Look, my mum’s been happier this last year than she’s been since I can remember.  I supposed that was because of the business and working with you.”

 

Rosemary smiled and nodded. 

 

 “But I guess you had a little more to do with that than I thought,” Helena added.

 

“I would like to think so, yes.”

 

“So it’s serious?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And what do you plan to do . . .”

 

“Helena, are you about to ask me if my intentions toward your mother are honorable?  Because this is surreal enough already and . . .” She trailed off as the expression on Helena’s face revealed that, surreal or not, that was exactly what she wanted to know.  So Rosemary answered her honestly and simply:  “I love Laura.”

 

“Okay, then.”

 

Her pulse was still beating too loudly in her ears, so Rosemary was sure she had misheard.  “’Okay, then’?” she repeated.

 

Helena shrugged.  “I’m an artist,” she answered as if that explained it away and started walking back towards the house.  “Mind you I do want to talk to mum.  Soon.”

 

“Of course.” 

 

Rosemary picked up her pace to catch up to the younger woman.  She was still in a daze.  When Helena stopped suddenly, she nearly collided into her back. 

 

“Just one other thing, Rosemary . . .”

 

“Anything.”

 

“When we go back in,” Helena went on.  “Keep your hands where I can see them, okay?”

 

Rosemary stared at her in disbelief—then burst out laughing. 

 

“I’ll be on my best behavior.  Promise.” 

 

* * *

“What was it then?”

 

“What was what?”

 

“The flower?  The bluey one.”

 

“Oh, just _caryopteris divaricata_.”

 

Laura smiled at the easy way the Latin rolled off Rosemary’s tongue and Rosemary made a mental note to revisit this proclivity later—but for now, she leaned in closer and whispered, “We should have a chat, love.  Soon.”

 

“What’s happened?”  At Laura’s look of concern, Rosemary smiled softly.  “Nothing bad.”  She squeezed Laura’s hand under the table, noting a new callus forming on the palm. “No dead bodies in the hedges.” 

* * *

Later, when Helena had joined them at the table again, Rosemary couldn't miss her pointed stare.  With a wink and a guilty shrug, Rosemary laced her fingers tighter through Laura’s. 


End file.
